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OF  THE 


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.Accessions  No.  6D  /  f^  ■  ^  Chiss  No.    ^i"^ 


.^ 


CHRISTMHS  EVE 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS 


BY 


C.    MAURICE   STEBBINS 


SALT  LAKE  CITY 

Kelly  &  Company 


1894 


COPYRlfcHT,    1894, 
BY 
C.  MAURICE  STEBBINS. 


i 


TO 

^Ut  ^uzzn  oi  '^ux  pome 
MY  MOTHER 

*|*5^se    |fiert)s    are    ueiJiijglv    ©eaicetfeJ. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Christmas  Eve, 3 

Evening  on  the  Ohio, 17 

In  City  Creek  Canyon, 20 

The  Sky  seems  Desolate, 25 

Could  I  but  Sing, 27 

In  Harvest  Time 29 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 31 

Autumn  Notes 33 

Song  of  Autumn, 36 

Sown, 39 

Love  Lies  A-cold 42 

At  Even-tide 48 

Pegno  D'Affetto. 50 

Time 51 

The  Poet's  Prayer, 52 

Sonnet 53 

Expectation    .       54 


i:r 


% 


CHRISTMfiS  EYE 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS, 


CHRISTMAS  EVE; 

OR, 

THE   ALPINE   SHEPHERD. 

I. 

There  was  a  youth,  a  nursling  of  the  mountains, 
Untutored  in  the  ways  of  congregated   men. 
His  knowledge  he  had  quaffed  from  the   pure  foun- 
tains, 
And  the  morning  streams,  and  flowery  glen 
Wherein  his  sheep  he  folded  safe  in  pen 
At  eve;  from  the  near  heavens,  and  the  light 
Of  day,  the  music  of  the  jay  and  wren. 
And  else  he  knew  not:  neither  how  to  write 
Nor  read;  but  in  the  life  he  lived  he  found  delight. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 


II. 


No  mother  ever  watched  with  quickening  breath 
The  varying  struggles  of  his  infancy: 
To  her  the  gates  of  life  were  gates  of  death; 
No  sister's  sweet  companionship  had  he 
To  temper  and  attune  his  childish  glee. 
A  father's  was  the  only  care  he  knew; 
A  father's  untrained  knee  the  only  knee 
To  which  he  came  for  knowledge.     And  his  view 
Was  narrow  as  the  narrow  valley  where  he  grew. 

III. 

When  spring  first  touched  the  mountains  into  green, 
The  warm  sun  resting  on  their  southern  side; 
And  birds  winged  lightly  to  a  northward  scene, 
He,  with  his  aged  father  as  his  guide, 
Would  leave  the  sheltered  valley  and  abide 
Thro'  summer  in  the  mountains,  feeding  there 
The  bleating  sheep  until  late  autumn-tide 
Re-led  them  to  their  narrow  vale  to  wear 
Away  the  winter  on  austere  and  scanty  fare. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


IV. 


And  thus  far  from  the  never-ending  strife 
Of  tho't;  far  from  the  eddying  ebb  and  flow 
Of  peace  and  misery,  of  death  and  Hfe; 
Far  from  the  human  cahii  and  joy  that  grow 
From  friendship;  and  the  hopes  and  fears  tliatstrow 
The  paths  of   men,  his  spirit  formed  its  view; 
Untrained  by  ought  less  pure  than  the  first  glow 
Of  dawn,  the  water  of  the  brook,  or  dew 
Of  evening,  and  the  summer  sky's   untarnished   blue. 


And  many  a  day  he  wandered  forth  alone, 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  meadow  land, 
And  gained  the  topmost  peak,  the  first  bright  throne 
Of  day,  seeking  in  love  to  understand 
The  things  around  him,  and  to  find  a  hand 
Of  fellowship  in  each  least  thing  he  saw. 
And  thus  his  simple  spirit  did  expand 
Until  he  felt  spring  up  a  natural  awe 
Toward  these,  his  kindred,  knowing  not  their  law. 


L  y  1.V  *  V 


6  CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

VI. 

And  hour  by  hour  he  stood  beneath  the  shaggy  rocks 
That  rise  in  measured  rows  up  to  the  sky 
That  seems  to  softly  rest  its  fleecy  flocks 
Upon  them;  and  forgot  the  sensual  tie 
That  bound  him  to  the  earth;  for  to  his  eye 
Appeared  more  than  the  visible  shape  of  things; 
More  than  the  tho't  of  great  or  small,  or  high 
Or  low.     Faint  echoes  of  retreating  wings 
Were  these;  sudden  to  disappear  as  whisperings. 

VII. 

To  move  or  speak  the  power  was  not  his  own. 
He  might  have  prayed  had  he  e'er  heard  of  prayer; 
Yet  did  his  spirit  worship,  and  the  throne 
At  which  it  knelt  rose  thro'  the  trembling  air; 
And  in  this  usurpation  all  was  fair, 
Loving  and  lovable;  transcendent  power 
Breathed  in  the  least  of  creatures  everywhere. 
Here  littleness  lived  not;  and  every  flower 
That  breathed  added  a  greatness  to  the  passing  hour. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  7 

VIIL 

Upraised  to  adoration  of  a  Power, 
Whose  name  is  unfamiliar  to  his  lips, 
He  lives,  reflecting  on  tlie  natural  dower 
Of  things  about  him.     And  the  autumn  slips 
To  spring,  and  spring  to  autumn;  time  strips 
The  mountains  turn  by  turn  of  green  and  white, 
As  drop  by  measured  drop  the  water  drips. 
The  youth  turned  homeward  on  an  autumn  nighl 
To  find  a  ftosty  form:  its  spirit  taken  flight. 

IX. 

Too  deep  the  wound  for  words  or  flow  of  tears! 
There  like  a  stony  statue  did  he  stand, 
Whose  cold  impassive  face  defies  the  years 
To  work  an  equal  change,  or  with  the  brand 
Of  dissolution  mar  its  mien.     No  hand 
Were  sensitive  enough  to  thaw  the  frost 
That  bound  his  spirit  more  than  to  command 
That  to  return  whence  it  had  fled;  life  lost 
Her  power;  a  death  in  life  that   death   could    not  ex- 
haust. 


8  CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

X. 

Calm  was  the  niglit;  the  moon  fair  on  the  hills; 
But  calmer  was  despair,  until  day  broke 
At  last,  and  melted  up  the  frozen  rills 
Of  life;  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  he  spoke. 
Seeking  his  questionings  in  words  to  cloak: 
"What  is  this,  father,  holds  thy  dear  lips  dumb? 
And  is  this  death,  whose  swift  and  fatal  stroke 
1  ne'er  have  seen,  save  as  it  erst  has  come 
And  led  away  a  wandering  lamb  to  martyrdom? 

XI. 

"What  is  it  that  is  gone,  that  thou  canst  speak 
No  more?  that  thy  fond  eyes  are  cold  and  still? 
Which  e'er  as  I  came  heme,  were  wont  to  seek 
My  face.     Where  gone  thy  smile  that  used  to  fill 
My  heart  with  rapture  as  I,  warm  or  chill. 
Led  homeward  from  the  pastures;   where   the  smile 
That  taught  me  all  I  know  of  good  and  ill 
And  love;  that  I  bore  with  me  many  a  mile. 
Hid  in  my  heart,  thro'  mountain-meadow  and  defile? 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  9 

XII. 

"I  tho't  I  loved  thee  well;   but  now  I  feel 
I  only  loved  thee  half;   canst  thou  be  near! 
Where  is  that  other  self  of  thee,  the  real? 
For  'tis  not  thou  I  see  in  this  severe 
And  rigid  form;  only  a  vision  leer! 
But  where  the  something  that  I  cannot  name: 
The  vision  that  I  see  no  more,  nor  hear? 
That  sparkle  in  thine  eyes  ihat  went  and  came, 
That  force  and  warmth  of  love  that  thrilled  thy  frame? 

XIII. 

"Is  that,  too,  dead?     Can  Life  be  lost  in  Death? 
And  what  is  life  and  what  is  Death?     And  where 
Is  He  that  made  them?    He  that  fused  the  breath 
Into  these  lips?  I  tho't,  or  dreamed  the  air. 
One  day,  upon  its  pulsing  wings  did  bear 
Insinuations  of  a  Power  too  deep 
To  be  ought  less  than  everlasting  heir 
To  all  that  is  or  has  been:   strong  to  keep 
Eternal  watch  o'er  all  that  wakes  or  is  asleep. 


10  CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

XIV. 

"I  tho't — and  could  it  be  only  a  dream? 
I  tho't  the  mountains  and  the  air  and  sky, 
The  trees,  the  birds  among  the  trees,  the  stream, 
All  breathed  a  song  of  ecstacy  on  high. 
I  heard:  it  melted  into  me  till  I 
Became  transformed;  within  me  as  without 
Was  something  more  than  human;  ear  and  eye 
Alone  performed  their  functions;   then,  a  shout, 
A  chorus  of  a  million  voices  seemed  to  wrap  me  about. 

XV. 

"My  heart  leapt  in  me.     Bliss  and  mystery! 
I  loved!     And  felt  that  I  was  loved  and  more. 
My  soul  grew  boundless  as  the  swelling  sea, 
Encompassing  the  earth;  I  did  adore! 
And  grander  than  my  own,  broad  as  the  floor 
Of  heaven,  streamed  Love  of  all  things — infinite! 
And  seemed  it  must  be  so  for  evermore. 
It  was  about  me;  I  was  lost  in  it. 
And  must  it  like  a  dream  into  the  darkness  flit? 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  11 

XVI. 

"If  this  be  so,  then  must  all  creatures  weep: 
Be  there  no  power  of  Love  between  the  earth 
And  man,  and  man  and  sky,  then  must  ye  keep 
With  me  continual  mourning;  and  no  mirth 
Forever  know;  but  an  eternal  dearth 
Of  joy  shall  be  your  portion,  oh,  ye  hills, 
Ye  fountains,  and  sweet  fields  and  birds!    and   birtli 
A  mimic  mockery.     Then  must  the  rills 

Of  heaven  open  wide  and  weep  for  her  own  ills." 

XVII. 

He  ceased;  and  the  sad  sound  of  his  own  words 
Struck  maddening  terror  to  his  stricken  heart. 
A  spirit  led  him  forth;  and  where  the  herds 
Had  fed  for  many  a  summer  day,  the  smart 
Of  his  fresh  wound  choking  his  breath,  the  dart 
Firm  in  his  side,  he  flees  by  winding  ways 
Familiar  to  his  feet.     Yet  does  he  start 
And,  like  some  guileless,  timid  thing  that  strays, 
His  stealthy  steps  at  his  more  stealthy  shadow  stays. 


12  CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

XVIII. 

Thro'  winding  dells  whose  silence  is  disturbed 
Alone  by  the  swift  echoes  of  his  feet; 
Or,  by  the  bank  of  torrents  whose  uncurbed 
And  fitful  fury  to  his  ear  seems  sweet 
As  rest  and  shadow  from  the  noon-day  heat 
Of  summer  sun,  he  goes;  and  in  his  brain 
The  fever  keeps  apace  with  the  quick  beat 
Of  his  wild  steps.     A  hissing  hurricane 
Of  tho't  drags  him  on  in  the  turmoil  of  its  train. 

XIX. 

Evening  came  on;  and  thro'  the  solemn  aisles 
Of  a  deep  wood  he  wandered;  all  the  trees 
Were  bare;  and  thro'  the  long  winding  files 
Of  rocks  and  gnarled  boughs  the  plaintive  breeze 
Moaned  sadly,  like  those  calm  and  piteous  seas 
That  break  forever  on  a  barren  strand. 
Remote  the  wan  moon  rises  by  degrees 
And  sheds  its  cold  light  on  the  lonely  land, 
And  on    the   shepherd's  burning    brow   and    chilling 
hand. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  13 

XX. 

The  covetous  hours  run  on — dayh'ght  and  dark — 
Until  upon  an  eve  the  growing  gloom 
Slackened  the  fury  of  his  pain;  the  spark 
That  lent  strength  to  his  languid   limbs  gave  room 
To  weakness — and  he  swooned.    And  like  a  tomb 
The  night-wind  built  with  the  sere  leaves 
A  couch  for  him.     He  sleeps;    and  on  the  loom 
Of  dreams,  young  memory  with  fancy  weaves 
About  his  heart  her  woof  till  it  forgets  to  grieve. 

XXL 
His  father  stood,  of  radiant  face  and  form, 
With  consolation  on  his  lips,  and  bade 
Him  leave  the  uncultured  wild  and  seek  a  place 
Among  the  haunts  of  men;  then  did  he  fade 
And  the  first  light  of  day  faintly  arrayed 
The  wood  and  mountains  in  reviving  hope; 
And  daintily  upon  his  leaf-bed  played. 
He  rose  and,  in  the  waters  that  elope 
From  fountains,  bathed  his  brow;  then  followed  down 
the  slope. 


14  CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

XXII. 

In  many  a  narrow  vale  and  deep  ravine 
The  slumbering  echoes  at  his  steps  awoke; 
And  many  a  timid  hare,  scared  at  a  mien 
More  innocent  than  her  own,  the  frail  grass  broke 
Beneath  her  anxious  feet.     Of  leaves  of  oak 
Or  sycamore  with  tender  hands  he  made 
His  bed  at  eve;  and  oftentimes  he  spoke 
To  his  own  questionings.     At  last  he  strayed 
To  a  broad  stream  that  yielded   to   a  sinuous  glade. 

XXIII. 
He  finds  an  unmoored  shallop  by  the  shore, 
Whose    chinked     and    withered    sides    can    scarce 

sustam 
The  weight  of  their  decay;  the  fragile  oar 
He  takes  and  glides  out  o'er  the  rippling  plain. 
Swift  flows  the  stream;  the  night-wind  blows  amain; 
The  boat,  like  spirit-craft  before  the  sweep 
Of  spirit-wind,  drives  on;  in  the  blue  main 
Above,  alternately,  the  sun  and  wan  stars  keep 
Continual  watch,  beacons  of  an  eternal  deep. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  16 

XXIV. 

It  chanced  upon  the  holy  Christmas  eve: 

He  sought  the  shelter  of  a  lone  chalet. 

A  father  and  a  maiden  fair  receive 

The  way-worn  guest.     In  good  old  fashioned  way 

The  eve  is  kept  with  rites  unto  the  day 

To  come,  in  memory  of  the  Christmas  morn 

Long  centuries  ago;  a  sacred  lay 

The  maiden  sang,  and  in  the  shepherd's  lorn 

And  wasted  heart,  as  the  old  man  prayed,  a  hope  was 
born. 

XXV. 
The  ecstacy  that  he  had  learned  from  streams 
And  mountains,  and  the  sun's  warm  light. 
The  expectation  of  his  skyward  dreams 
Were  realized:  to  her  sublimest  height 
His  spirit  rose,  and  by  a  mystic  flight 
He  stood  once  more  before  a  sky-crowned  peak, 
Again  loving  and  lovable  and  bright. 
The  cloud-caps  drifting  thro'  the  blue  bespeak 

That  Love;  in   it    commune    all  creatures,   strong   or 
weak. 


16  CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

XXVI. 

And  was  it  strange  he  prayed  that  night  to  die? 
And  was  it  strange  the  prayer,  his  first,  was  heard? 
That  Christmas  morn  rose  in  a  cheerful  sky; 
Among  the  leafless  boughs  the  slight   wind  stirred; 
The  morning  piping  of  the  last  sweet  bird 
Greeted  the  day;  a  peace  was  in  the  air, 
And  joy  o'er  all;  but  never  voice  could  word 
The  unsung  joy  those  smiling  lips  declare, 
Free  from  all  touch  of  earth,  fair  as   the   heavens  are 
fair. 


EVENING  ON  THE  OHIO. 

The  slow  sun  sinks  beneath  the  edge 
Of   day,  where  earth  and  sky  lie  locked 
In  fond  embrace;    from  peak  and  ledge 
The  last  light  leaps;    a  silent  throng, 
The  shadows  gathering  steal  along 
In  dark  procession  up  the   hills 
On  the  Kentucky  shore,  and    rocked 
Upon  a  sea  of  waving  green 
They  glide  still   on  and  up  to  flee 
And  mingle  with  the  far  unseen; 
A  fragment  of  infinity. 

The  silent  river  drops  from  rills 
That  lie  concealed  beyond  the  veil 


18  EVENING  ON  THE  OHIO. 

Of  mystery  that  twilight  weaves 

Athwart  the  lessening  intervale 

From  earth  to  heaven,  and  flows  in  peace 

More  gentle  than  the  wave  of  leaves 

Awhile  the  winds  for  respit  cease. 

And  now  a  bark  majestic  rides 

Out  of  the  mist;  its  steady  light 

Streams  on  before  appareling 

The  waters  in  a  calm  delight. 

Astern  a  little  tremor  glides 

Along  the  surface,  altering 

The  stillness  of  its  placid  mien. 

Calmly  imposing  and  serene 

The  craft  unswerving  passes  down 

Beyond  the  grove  and  harbor-bar, 

The  shrouded  wharf  and  silent  town, 

And  in  the  distance  faints  away 

As  faints  the  morning  star 

Or  spirit  to  eternity. 


EVENING  ON  THE  OHIO.  19 

A  sacred  peace  reigns  over  all 

The  scene,  and  through  the  stillness  come 

The  throbbings  of  the  Nature-heart 

With  magic  power  to  purge  away 

The  dross  of  life  until  there  fall 

The  fleshy  curtains  from  the  soul, 

And  it,  released  and  dumb, 

Forgetting  how  to  pray, 

Yet  stands  in  adoration 

Of  the  Power  that  made  it. 


IN  CITY  CREEK  CANYON. 

Childlike  I  lie  upon  the  springing  grass 

That  rims  the  road  along  the  canyon  slope, 

And  watch  the  silver-iolded  cloud-caps  pass 

In  silent  majesty  across  a  sea 

Of  half- transparent  blue:  a  purity 

So  pure  that  its  reflection  makes  the  earth 

More  free  from  all  but  truth  and  love, 

And  turns  my  wandering  thoughts 

Back  to  the  happy  day  that  gave  me  birth: 

For  so  I  count  the  hour  that  brought  the  dove 

Of  life  and  fused  into  my  limbs  a  length 

Of  days  sufficient  to  behold  this  hour. 

To  contemplate  these  symbols  of  the  Power 

That  raised  to  form  these  ever-ancient  hills 


IN  CITY  CREEK  CANYON.  21 

And  all  with  purpose  and  with  pleasure  fills, 
Were  a  sufficient  prize  for  living. 

Softly  the  green  turf  melts  away 

To  the  low  edge  that  hems  the  stream. 

The  sprightly  waters  stealing  in  and  out 

Among  the  many  windings,  splash  and  spray 

The  leaves  that  overhang  in  mid-day  dream; 

O'erspread  the  stones  with  silken  softness,    shout 

And  sing  an  ever-varied  melody, 

And  of  their  singing  never  weary;    gay 

And  noisy  in  their  unremitting  glee 

They  wander  on  as  they  have  done  forever. 

The  grape  of  Oregon,  about  the  spot. 

Raise  modestly  their  amorous  yellow  heads; 

And  blushing  for  its  own  deep  loveliness 

Amidst  the  grass  the  wild  sweet  William  sheds 

Its  tender  beauty,  or  the  wild  sweet  pea. 

The  buttercup  or  frail  forget-me-not. 

The  wind  relenting  hovers  with  the  bee 


Tl  IN  CITY  CREEK  CANYON. 

For  one  short  moment,  bending  to  caress 
Their  dainty  lips,  and  drunk  with  love  of  them 
Loses  itself  amidst  their  fragrant  fragileness, 
Until  a  thrill  vibrate  each  lithesome  stem. 

Beyond  the  stream  a  giant  mass  of  rock 
Rises  far  as  the  eye  can  skim  the  air, 
And  pillars  up  with  many  a  massive  block 
Of  ancient  stone  the  vaulted  arch  of  heaven. 
Silent  and  stern  its  wrinkled  mien  doth  stare 
Hard  down  upon  me  like  a  Roman   god; 
Across  its  furrowed  features  coldly  run 
The  characters  of  ages,  characters 
Revealing  deep  how  Nature's  works  are  done 
By  her  unnumbered  ministers, 
That  were  ere  day  was  made  a  name 
And  fashioned  from  the  night;  ere  life  became 
On  land  and  in  the  air  and  ageless  seas; 
The  awful  characters  of  Time's  mysterious 
And  measured  march  through  centuries; 


IN  CITY  CREEK  CANYON.  23 

Strange  symbols  that  foretell  the  future 
From  the  past,  the  story  of  eternity. 

Calmly  the  day  is  dying,  and  a  peace 
That  lives  with  nature  only,  everywhere 
Is  breathed  by  the  unseen  spirits  of  the  air; 
The  low  blue  sky  enriched  with  many  a  fleece 
Of  snowy  whiteness  settles  round  the  peaks 
A  little  closer,  that  with  jagged  arms 
Support  it;  hushed,  too,  are  the  trembling  leaves 
Of  aged  tree  and  wanton  weed,  fit  charms 
For  noon-day  bee  and  evening  whip-poor-will: 
The  flowers  bend  their  dainty  heads  with  cheeks 
Aflush  to  bid  farewell  to  the  faint  day; 
A  while  the  old  sun  smiles  upon  the  grass 
That  rims  the  narrow  marge  with  mellow  ray, 
Clambers  the  rocky  steepness  to  the  edge 
That  is  the  first  to  greet  the  seething  dawn, 
There  hovers  for  a  moment  and  is  gone. 


24  IN  CITY  CREEK  CANYON. 

No  voice  of  bird  charms  the  entranced  air, 
And  yet  the  very  stillness  seems  to  chant 
An  unheard  requiem  to  the  day,  and  there 
Are  strains  more  sweet  by  far  than  ever  wind 
Hath  wafted  to  the  ear  from  harp  or  lyre 
Touched  by  a  human  hand;  a  visitant 
Unseen  bears  them  upon  her  trembling  wings 
Straight  from  the  ethereal  lute  of  Silence,  shrined 
In  twilight  shades  of  wooded  aisle  and  spire; 
And  audible  to  the  inward  ear  alone. 
She  breathes  her  deep  mute  music,  and  the  end 
And  the  beginning  into  one  strain  blend: 
Which  is  life,  love  and  immortality. 


THE  SKY  SEEMS  DESOLATE. 

The  sky  seems  desolate  to-day; 
The  birds  that  fly  across  the  grey 
An  evil  portent  seem  to  bring 
To  me,  with  heavy-flapping  wing; 
The  piping  of  the  wren  is  wrought 
With  melancholy;  winds  have  caught 
The  plaintive  pulsings  of  the  sea; 
Even  the  overbrimming  glee 
Of  brook  and  spring  is  blent 
With  murmurings  of  discontent; 
The  sun,  the  old  untiring  sun, 
Seems  weary  of  the  task  begun 
This  morn,  and  toils  across  the  sky 
As  if  his  pathway  were  too  high, 


2fi  THE  SKY  SEEMS  DESOLATE. 

Or  he  had  lost  a  friend, 

Or  sought  a  too  far- distant  end. 

Yet  Sergius  sings  with  keen  deh'ght; 

To  him  the  day  is  pure  and  bright 

As  ever  day  might  be; 

A  gaysome  minstrelsy 

Reigns  over  all;  the  very  streets 

Are  redolent  with  flowery  sweets, 

Like  fields  in  May. 

A  happy  chance  befell 

Him  yesterday; 

I  bade  a  hope  farewell. 


COULD  I  BUT  SING. 

Could  I  but  sing  as  the  old  earth  has  sung 

For  centuries;  could  I  but  catch  among 

Her  wild  ethereal  melodies  one  note 

Of  minor  chord,  of  those  that  ceaseless  float 

Thro'  forest-aisle  and  evening-tinctured  sky, 

Or  feel  the  pathos  of  a  wave's  deep  sigh, 

Or  reach  one  wonder  of  a  cloudlet's  fold, 

One  wonder  of  the  tiny  waves  of  gold 

That  float  above  the  far  horizon's  rim 

And  fill  the  world  up  to  its  shelving  brim. 

One  growing  wonder  of  the  smallest  flower 

That  e'er  lent  fragrance  to  a  summer  bower; 

Could  I  but  catch  one  woodland  strain 

From  the  wild  wind  that  wanders  thro'  the  plain, 


28  COULD  I  BUT  SING. 

With  sweetest  music  for  a  lover's  ear, 
From  dawning  till  the  closing  year, 
Or  tell  one  beauty  of  the  leaf  of  grass 
That  bends  to  hear  the  mountain  waters  pass; 
Thro'  time  the  liquidy  should  roll  along 
And  teach  mankind  the  potency  of  song. 


IN  HARVEST  TIME. 

It  was  a  day  in  harvest-time, 

And  as  I  wandered  thro'  the  fields 

Of  yellow  grain,  some  softly  waved 

Beneath  the  mild  caresses  of  the  wind; 

Some  was  in  fresh  lain  swathes; 

And  some  lay  bound  in  mellow  sheaves. 

Oh,  the  mysterious  work  of  time! 

Oh,  the  creative  Love  in  sun! 

Oh,  the  enlivening  Power  in  rain! 

Only  a  few  short  months  ago 

The  seeds  were  scattered  on  the  ground; 

The  little  blades  sprang  to  the  light 

And  grew,  perfected  in  the  ear; 

And  now  the  harvest  fully  ripe! 


30  IN  HARVEST  TIME. 

I  tho't  and  wandered  on  once  more, 

And  found  stretched  out  to  rest 

Upon  the  prostrate  grain,  his  scythe  close  by, 

The  mower  spent  with  heat  and  toil. 

His  face  was  thin  and  wrinkled  much, 

Grey  were  his  hair  and  beard  with  age. 

Weary  with  age  and  toil,  I  tho't, 

And  at  the  tho't  my  heart  grew  sad. 

"To  live  on  this  fair  earth  is  sweet. 

And  youth  is  full  of  happiness. 

Then  why  must  we  each  one  grow  old?" 

Into  the  far-off  skies  I  cried. 

My  eyes  fell  on  the  ripened  grain, 

And  read  reply:  because  the  harvest 

Is  better  than  the  growing  grain. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

"Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea.'' 
—  Chambered  Nautilus. 

Weep,  weep!  yet  wherefore  should  we  weep? 

Why  weep  that  yonder  bark  be  quit? 

For  such  a  voyager  unfit, 

To  bear  him  longer  o'er  the  deep. 

Why  weep  that  with  a  sturdy  oar 
A  long  successful  voyage  is  past, 
And  he  has  beached  his  boat  at  last 
Beyond  the  breakers,  safe  on  shore. 

Mid  storm  or  calm,  no  flood-tide  swells 
Upon  the  farther  shore  of  life 
But  into  port,  with  deathless  strife, 
Some  wandering  voyager  impels. 

With  steady  arm  and  eye  serene, 

Not  every  sailor  steers  his  bark, 

With  one  clear  star  to  quell  the  dark 

And  guide  him  through  the  strange  demesne. 


\^f.,S^,,^ 


VT* 


32  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

With  tattered  sail  or  splintered  mast 
Or  with  a  piece  of  broken  oar, 
Some  struggling  in  the  waves  gain  shore 
With  pain;  but  all  put  in  at  last. 

Then  cease  lament,  for  nought  has  failed: 
He  lives  beyond  the  reach  of  fate; 
And  nought  lies  lone  and  desolate 
Save  the  frail  craft  in  which  he  sailed. 


AUTUMN  NOTES. 

Oh  fair,  oh  sweet,  oh  lovely  autumn- time  ! 
To  clothe  thy  beauties  in  a  fitting  rhyme 
Were  not  so  frail  a  task:  for  never  spring 
With  all  the  mirth  that  birds  and  bushes  bring 
Was  half  so  fair  in  dress,  or  form,  or  tho'tas  thee: 
In  love  or  minstrelsy. 

No  fragile  buds  are  bursting  in  the  copse, 
No  green  clothes  the  rough  mountain  tops; 
But  crowned  with  might  and  majesty  they  rise 
In  fellowship  with  closer  bending  skies. 
The  sun,  no  longer  fierce,  shines  with  a  mellow  ray; 
More  friendly  than  in  May. 


34  AUTUMN  NOTES. 

The  life  they  live  more  deeply  to  be  seen 
Than  when  'tis  mantled  in  deceptive  green, 
That  thrills  from  barren  peak  to  flowery  glen, 
Reveals  relationship  'twixt  them  and  men: 
A  bond  to  bind  us  to  the  earth  that  we  have  trod, 
And  lift  us  unto  God. 

The  brook  runs  purer  o'er  its  rocky  bed. 
Past  the  wild  coverts  whence  the  birds  have  fled; 
And  calmly  its  contented  chatter  steals 
More  faint  and  far,  in  sweeter,  swifter  peals, 
Unmixed  with  ought  impure,  and  sinks  into   the  soul, 
Fleet  as  the  waters  roll. 

No  sullen  visions  of  a  wasted  life, 
No  plaintive  whisperings  of  a  fruitless  strife, 
As  one  has  lately  muttered  in  my  ear, 
And  no  insinuations  of  a  fear 
Thtit  life  may  ever  end  in  death  my  heart  receives 
From  the  discolored  leaves. 


AUTUMN  NOTES.  35 

All  things  breathe  faith  in  immortality: 
In  Love  that  ever  was  and  ever  is  to  be. 
It  flows  from  every  song  or  ^ound  that  breaks 
And  fruitful  melodies  that  silence  wakes; 
And  life  and  death,  and  tho't,  and  sound  and   silence 
blend 

In  one  eternal  trend. 


SONG  OF  AUTUMN. 

1  come  on  the  wings  of  the  South-wind; 

On  the  wings  of  the  South  and  East; 
I  tarry  in  forest  and  meadow, 

And  spread  out  my  harvest-feast. 

I  am  Life,  I  am  Death,  and  Harvest, 
The  Soul  of  the  Summer  and  Spring, 

The  end  of  their  budding  and  blooming, 
Of  the  Months  and  the  Years  1  am  King. 

My  coffers  are  full;  I  give  freely 
To  the  strong  and  the  weak  as  well: 

To  man,  and  the  birds  of  the  meadow, 
The  squirrel  and  fox  in  the  dell. 


SONG  OF  AUTUMN. 

For  mine  are  the  barley  and  wheat  fields, 
The  apples  of  red  and  green, 

The  chestnuts  of  brown  on  the  hilltops, 
The  fields  of  corn  between. 

For  me  grapes  in  purple  clusters 
Hang  low  on  the  rustic  vine; 

And  orchards  of  pears  and  peaches 
Their  garlanded  heads  incline. 

I  bring  unto  all  a  blessing 

From  inland  lake  to  the  sea; 
I  strew  the  highlands  with  plenty, 

The  valleys  I  fill  with  glee. 

No  dingle  may  lie  so  hidden 

That  /  do  not  spy  it  out, 
And  fill  with  the  wealih  of  my  treasures 

Each  distant  and  secret  redoubt. 


38  SONG  OF  AUTUMN. 

For  all  countries  are  my  dominions, 
From  pole  to  equator  and  pole; 

And  my  coursers  are  swift  as  the  light'nings 
To  bear  me  from  goal  to  goal. 

My  thanks  are  often  but  curses, 

Yet  still  do  I  wander  on; 
And  gladly  bestow  my  bounties 

Till  my  wealth  is  vanished  and  gone; 

Then  I  flee  on  the  wings  of  the  North-wind, 

On  the  wings  of  the  North  and  West; 
And  leave  to  the  keeping  of  Winter 
•      The  lands  that  I  have  blest. 


SOWN. 

The  fruit-laden  winds  of  the  autumn  blew 
And  two  small  seeds  to  a  flower-plot  threw, 
Then  buried  them  deep  on  the  lifeless  ground 
With  all  the  dead  leaves  and  stems  to  be  found. 

Then  the  hoar-frost  came  and  the  sleet  and  snow, 
And  over  the  garden  did  reveling  go; 
But  the  seeds  slept  on  in  their  rose-leaf  bed 
Until  the  winter  was  up  and  fled, 

And  then  they  sprang  forth  in  the  morning  light, 

And  drank  their  fill  from  the  tears  of  night, 

Till  their  young   leaves    swelled    with  the  breath   of 

spring 
As  it  filled  the  world  in  its  wandering. 


40  SOWN. 

One  of  them  grew  enriched  with  the  dower 
And  promise  of  being  a  perfect  flower, 
Enjoying  the  blessings  it  each  day  won 
From  the  gentle  rain  and  the  patient  sun. 

The  petals  blew  open  at  last  to  the  air 
Laying  its  beautiful  breast  all  bare, 
Upholding  its  love  to  each  panting  breeze 
That  lingered  to  whisper  its  tender  pleas. 

Not  a  soul  ever  passed  the  flower  by 
But  felt  the  joy  of  its  presence  nigh. 
And  the  bees  that  lodged  on  its  slender  tips 
Instilled  the  dew  from  its  lovely  lips. 

But  there  entered  the  garden  a  hand  one  day, 
And  plucked  the  blossoms  and  bore  them  away 
To  cheer  with  their  beauty  and  sweet  perfume 
The  weary  hours  of  a  sick  child's  room. 


SOWN,  41 

But  others  sprang  up  in  the  vacant  place 
And  filled  it  full  with  their  radiant  grace; 
Yet  the  plant  gave  cheerfully  all  it  had 
To  make  the  heart  of  the  young  child  glad. 

A  blessing  to  earth  was  this  little  flower, 
So  pure  and  so  gentle,  so  great  in  its  power, 
As  long  as  the  summer  gave  to  it  breath, 
And  then  it  folded  its  leaves  in  death. 

But,  alas,  the  other  and  comlier  seed 
Developed  to  be  but  an  ugly  weed; 
All  cumbrous  and  dank  and  worthless  and  tall, 
It  thrust  out  its  branches  unloved  of  all. 

It  drank  up  the  rain  and  the  morning  dew, 
And  the  sunshine  out  of  the  heavens  blue; 
Yet  it  only  cumbered  the  ground  where  it  stood, 
Ill-shapen  and  poisonous,  void  of  all  good. 


LOVE  LIES  A-COLD. 

In  the  cool  garden  closes, 
Where  summer  and  care 
Have  wrought  beauty  so  rare; 

Where  the  perfume  of  roses 
Is  spent  on  the  air; 
With  a  reticent  glare, 

The  soft  sunshine  reposes 
On  the  bright-blown  flowers 
For  hours  upon  hours. 

Not  a  breath  stirs  the  willows, 
That  border  the  stream, 
From  their  mid-day  dream; 

And  the  slow  swelling  billows 


LOVE  LIES  A-COLD.  43 

Are  gathering  each  beam 
From  the  sun,  with  a  gleam 
On  the  sea  as  it  pillows 
The  shallops  and  skiffs 
Beyond  the  clear  cliffs. 

But  the  day  shall  shiver 

And  die  ere  a  sound 

Stir  a  leaf  from  the  ground, 
Or  a  voice  wake  a  quiver 

From  the  park  to  the  mound, 

Save  the  baying  hound 
Or  the  tremulous  river; 

For  Love  lies  a-cold 

In  the  castle  old. 

From  the  night  till  the  morning. 

From  morning  till  night, 

When  the  last  lonesome  light 
Fills  the  sky  with  its  warning 


44  LOVE  LIES  A-COLD. 

Of  day's  damask  flight, 
Neither  lady  nor  knight, 
The  frail  flowers  scorning, 
Shall  pluck  a  red  rose 
From  the  garden's  close. 

And  the  bright  breath  of  summer 
Shall  pass  into  fall; 
And  the  confident  call 

Of  the  busy-winged  hummer 
Shall  cease  from  the  wall 
Where  the  woodbines  crawl; 

Nor  the  steps  of  the  comer 
Of  the  now  dead  days 
Shall  quicken  the  ways. 

The  grey  gates  shall  crumble 

And  turn  into  sand. 

But  never  a  hand 
Or  a  finger  shall  humble 


LOVE  LIES  A-COLD.  45 

Itself  to  withstand 
The  decay,  till  it  brand 
All  the  walls,  and  they  tumble 
And  turn  into  clay. 
For  year  and  for  day. 

And  the  flowers,  forsaken. 

May  wither  and  die: 

For  the  wind  shall  sigh, 
And  the  branches  be  shaken; 

But  never  a  cry, 

Or  a  tear  to  the  eye, 
Shall  it  startle  or  waken: 

For  Love  lies  a-cold 

In  the  castle  old. 

So  the  years  shall  wither 

By  months  and  by  days, 

From  Mays  unto  Mays; 
And  the  sails  flee  thither, 


46  LOVE  LIES  A-COLD. 

O'er  the  watery  ways, 
From  yonder  bleak  bays, 
Where  the  moon  and  with  her 
The  timid  stars  shme 
On  the  barren  sea-brine; 

And  from  father  this  story 
Of  love  to  the  son 
Shall  descend;  and  none 

Shall  forget  the  old  glory, 
Till  the  sand  be  run 
From  his  glass;  or  the  sun 

And  the  stars  grow  hoary, 
And  be  not  the  lights 
Of  the  days  and  nights. 

But  the  castle  and  garden 
Of  days  then  long  dead. 
Awhile  love  was  shed 

O'er  the  walls  that  guard  on 


LOVE  LIES  A-COLD.  47 

The  west,  shall  be  wed 
To  waste,  and  each  bed 
To  a  stone  shall  harden: 
For  Love  lies  a-cold 
In  the  castle  old. 


AT  EVEN-TIDE. 

The  western  sky  in  crimson  dyed 

Sinks  softly  o'er  the  earth's  dark  breast, 
Shedding  abroad  a  Hngering  rest, 
At  even-tide. 

The  shadows  climb  the  mountain-side 
One  after  one  with  solemn  pace, 
As  if  aspiring  into  space. 

At  even-tide. 

How  listlessly  the  light  boats  glide 
Reflected  in  the  gleaming  mere. 
While  the  lone  heron  hovers  near, 
At  even-tide. 


AT  EVEN-TIDE.  AU 

And  ere  the  vesper  chimes  have  died 

The  monk's  low  hymn,  the  chant,  the  prayer, 
Rise  trembling  on  the  darkening  air, 
At  even-tide. 

The  sated  flocks  lie  down  beside 

The  fold,  and  their  meek  spirits  blend 
With  nature  in  the  day's  mild  end, 
At  even-tide. 

The  brown  bright  thrushes  sing  and  hide; 
A  sigh  is  echoed  from  the  hill; 
A  star  shines  out  and  all  is  still, 
At  even-tide. 


PEGNO  D'AFFETTO. 

I  lay  these  roses  at  thy  feet,  love, 

Content  to  lay  them  there 
If  only  you  may  breathe  their  sweet,  love. 

Or  place  one  in  your  hair. 

But  crush  and  bruise  them  if  you  will,  love. 

Their  fragrance  is  more  sweet. 
And  bruised  and  broken  they  will  still,  love. 

Lie  pleading  at  thy  feet. 

And  so  I  freely  lay  this  heart,  love, 

A  suppliant  at  thy  feet, 
But  if  to  crush  it  be  your  part,  love, 

'Twill  only  plead  more  sweet. 


TIME. 

The  clock  of  time  has  sounded 
From  the  belfry-tower  of  space: 

Its  silent  echoes  falling, 

Steal  on  with  a  mystic  pace. 

The  clock  ticks  on,  on  ever 

The  same  quaint  tick  as  before, 

And  the  leaves  of  the  future  rustle 
As  they  have  done  of  yore. 

The  future  is  but  the  present, 
The  present  is  but  the  past, 

And  that  lies  in  the  boundless 
Always  to  live  and  last. 


THE  POET'S  PRAYER. 

O  kindly  Nature,  thou  who  sovereign  art 
And  kindred  of  my  being,  bend  to  resign 
One  jealous-guarded  mystery  of  thine; 

One  simple  token  of  thy  favor  dart 

Amidst  the  longings  of  a  wistful  heart; 
O  let  me  worship  at  thy  inmost  shrine 
Until  I  feel  thy  holy  life  is  mine 

And  find  in  thee  a  glorious  counterpart: 

Then  shall  my  minstrelsy  be  ever  free. 
And  all  unheard  I'll  sing  in  solitude 

The  rural  music  of  simplicity. 

And  mingle  my  faint  pipings  with  the  stream 
That  chatters  by,  content  if  understood 

By  thee  and  thine,  unenvious  of  esteem. 


SONNET. 

Over  this  brink  the  waters  ever  pour 

From  healthy  morn  unto  thoughtful  eve, 

And  through  the  lingering  night  till  daybreak  weave 

Again  the  sun-light  on  the  grassy  shore, 

In  many  a  daring  stream  of  swollen  store, 
Where  a  small  lake  bounds  eager  to  receive 
Them  to  its  breast;  and  still  without  reprieve 

It  whispers,  and  the  caverns  echo:  more. 

So,  tender  Nature,  do  I  long  for  thee; 

Although  a  thousand  varied  streams  of  truth 
I  ever  drank  of  thee  from  my  first  youth, 

From  brook  and  cliff,  from  cloud  and  cerul  sea, 
Still  is  my  thirst  too  deep  to  satisfy 
And,  thus,  too  deep  it  shall  be  till  I  die. 


EXPECTATION. 

Sometimes  I've  seen  from  some  far-distant  hill, 
Appareled  in  the  glory  of  the  dawn 
When  first  she  smiles  upon  the  dripping  lawn, 

A  little  stream  drop  down  with  many  a  rill 

Of  such  delicious  sparkle  that  a  thrill 

Transfixed  my  bemg,  and  ere  the  spell  had  gone 
Bound  out  beneath  my  feet  and  on  where  yawn 

The  mighty  deeps  that  nought  can  drain  or  fill. 

So  I  have  dreamed  ethereal  dreams 
Of  what  should  be  upon  a  distant  day, 

The  future  lending  color  to  the  schemes, 
But  soon,  too  soon,  the  visions  died  away — 

A  present  unfulfilled,  and  then,  at  last. 

Faint  murmurs  on  the  ocean  of  the  past. 


v-.<^ 


J 


\'* 


